Recruiting Baptiste
by tree979
Summary: Junior suggests a new recruit to the Old Man. One shot.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target. But I do own this fic so if you read it, review it!**

**Author's note: People in the HT forum seem to be hungry for more Baptiste so I wrote this little one shot that speculates as to what Baptiste might have been like before Junior trained him to be an assassin. **

"Are you sure he's worth the effort?" The Old Man asked. He was clearly unimpressed.

"Trust me. He's worth it." Junior replied.

They watched from the doorway of an abandoned store as a young black man fought off an attack by four men armed with knives and crowbars. It seemed that the young man was thoroughly enjoying the confrontation and Junior could see why the Old Man had his doubts. The young man handled himself well, having no trouble keeping out of the reach of his attackers knives and easily disarming one of the men with the crowbars and using it against his attackers. What was alarming was that throughout the attack the young man was laughing maniacally and taunting the men at the top of his voice. Although a certain amount of bravado and wisecracking during a fight could be useful to keep an opponent off-balance, the man they were watching was taking it to a strange extreme.

"He doesn't seem to take things very seriously." The Old Man said, the disapproval in his voice obvious.

Junior cringed as the man he had recommended to his boss as a potential recruit began to turn what he had hoped would be a display of skill in to what was unmistakably a dance. The would be recruit side-stepped his attackers, taking advantage as they fell off balance when their blows failed to connect by literally kicking their asses and giggling as they hit the asphalt face first. The man was agile, the Old Man would have to give him that at least.

"He lacks focus." Junior said. "But I can teach him that."

The Old Man grunted non-committally. The man they were watching seemed to have grown tired with capering about and his opponents simultaneously reached the conclusion that staying down might be a safer option than to keep getting up only to be knocked down again. The man adjusted an imaginary hat before taking a golfing stance, with the crowbar held like a club.

"Fore!" He shouted, before teeing off with the crowbar straight into the face of one of the prone men. The damp crunch of metal againstflesh and bone was audible to the men watching from the shadows.

"He has the stomach for it but the man is a clown." The Old Man said. "What makes you think he would be of any use to me?"

Junior took a deep breath before answering. He knew he'd only get one chance to state his case.

"Apart from his combat skills, he shows promise as a forger. Guerrero rates his work, in fact it was Guerrero who brought him to my attention. He was late for a meet with a contact and when he got there he found his man dead, gunshot wound to the chest. He dug out the round to see if it could lead him to the shooter and found it was custom-made, totally unique. Turns out this guy makes his own ammo. Guerrero tracked him down when he used some of the gear he stole from his contact to forge some kind of bonds. He was so impressed with the guy's work on both the bonds and the bullets that he suggested I approach him about working for you."

"Huh," The Old Man grunted. "So I really have Guerrero to thanks for this… exhibition."

"If Guerrero rates him as a forger I thought it was worth bringing him to your attention. His combat skills are kind of a bonus." Junior waited nervously to see what the Old Man would decide.

"What is this clown's background?" He asked.

"He's British. No family, he was a foster kid. Joined the army and served for a couple of years before he was dishonourably discharged for hospitalising his CO and stealing munitions. He should have served time for it but he busted out soon after the court-martial. Since then he's been knocking around Europe, picked up a few languages too. He came to the states about a year ago and has done a few jobs here and there but hasn't really become part of any one crew."

"You really think you can make something useful out of this buffoon?" The Old Man asked sternly.

"Why not? He has skills we can use, he just needs to learn about discipline and control. You taught me those things, I don't see why I can't teach them to him."

The Old Man chuckled.

"Have you forgotten?" He asked. "It was not easy to teach you. You were barely a teenager and I had my work cut out for me. Do you think you can handle such a task with a grown man? And a skilled fighter at that?"

Junior grinned as his mentor let slip that he agreed his chosen recruit was a skilled fighter. He knew this meant the Old Man had given his approval to his choice.

"I think I can handle him." Junior said. The Old Man nodded as he watched the black man finish off the men who'd been unwise enough to attack him. He frowned as the man then went from body to body apparently removing their watches.

"What is he doing?" He asked.

Junior shrugged. "He has a thing for watches. I'm sure I can break him of the habit."

"Be sure you do." The Old Man said as he turned to leave. "A signature move like stealing a mark's watch is far too distinctive."

Junior followed the young black man as he left the alleyway, trying to work out the best way to tell the man that he had just been accepted as a recruit to an elite group of assassins. He decided it would probably be a good start to buy the man a beer.


End file.
